


you're all that matters

by lovecamedown



Series: i'm where i'm meant to be [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avenger Bucky, Codependency, Concerned Bucky, Fluffy Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Steve, Injured Steve Rogers, Kinda, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Bucky, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective!Bucky, Protective!Steve, Protectiveness, Shower Sharing, Sickfic, The Avengers - Freeform, bucky is an avenger, this is like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovecamedown/pseuds/lovecamedown
Summary: “Where ‘m I?” Steve’s voice is slurred so much he can barely understand himself. “Wha’ happ’n’d?”“You’re a fucking idiot, is what happened,” he says, and the bluntness of it makes Steve wants to laugh, but it hurts to laugh. Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?/or the one where steve gets badly injured in a fight and bucky takes care of him while he's on two week bed rest.





	you're all that matters

**Author's Note:**

> hi idek what this is but i hope you enjoy!! it is unbeta-ed so i'm sorry for any mistakes!  
> i called this document "steve is an idiot and bucky is Concerned" on my laptop so i feel like that's a pretty good description of what to expect :')

When Steve wakes, he struggles to get his eyes open. They’re completely glued shut. He tries to move, but pain surges through his body and everything feels heavy and held down. He knows he must be in some kind of hospital because the minute he realises he can barely move, a heart rate monitor begins to beat a little more rapidly, in time with his own heartbeat. And there are tubes on his nose and he feels wires against various parts of him.

“Steve?” He hears a voice say. A familiar voice. Bucky.

 _Bucky_.

Steve opens his lips to try and speak. His mouth is dry as anything and it feels a bit like someone’s run a dull knife over his throat, but he manages to get some kind of affirmative sound out. Something squeezes his hand. Bucky. He’s been holding it this whole time, he realises, and Steve focuses on that instead of the searing pain in every part of his body, letting Bucky’s pulse against his hand ground him.

Steve keeps trying to open his eyes. Eventually, after another few short moments that felt like _hours_ , they begin to flutter open, and bright white light floods his vision. It’s shadowed instantly by a head hovering above him, and he blinks a few times to clear his vision.

“Buck,” he manages to croak out.

“Hey,” Bucky breathes out, and Steve can see the relief on his face as well as hear it in his voice.

“Where ‘m I?” Steve’s voice is slurred so much he can barely understand himself. “Wha’ happ’n’d?”

Bucky’s silhouette disappears for a moment and Steve watches as he walks across to the table at the end of the bed, pouring a glass of water and sticking a straw in it. He holds it up for Steve who gratefully accepts it, trying to sit up at first but giving up because of the pain.

Once Steve’s taken a few sips and Bucky puts the cup down again, he sits in the chair and reaches out for Steve’s hand.

“You’re a fucking idiot, is what happened,” he says, and the bluntness of it makes Steve wants to laugh, but it _hurts to laugh._ _Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?_

“That’s mean,” Steve manages to murmur, trying to go for playful, but it probably just sounded more pouty.

Bucky sighs. Steve watches him run a hand down his face. The stubble on his chin is longer than normal. How long has he been here?

“Buck?” Steve questions.

Bucky stares at Steve, his face exhausted, dark circles prominent under his eyes and his hair a complete mess as it falls from the bun at the back of his neck.

“You were out for two days,” Bucky says, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how tightly he’s holding Steve’s hand. “If that’s what you’re wondering. Mostly due to the amount of drugs you’ve been on.”

“What—?”

“You were shot three times in your torso, and you have a broken leg, broken wrist, and broken collar bone. Oh, and a fractured rib that almost hurt your lung. And a gunshot graze on your leg. You’re fucking _lucky_ you have that serum in you, Rogers, because _fuck_. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.”

Steve tries to squeeze Bucky’s hand. “Buck, it’s okay,”

Bucky sighs, leaning forward with his head in his metal hand, fingers running through his hair. “Fuck, Steve,” he’s looking down at the floor. “You almost _died_. Sam says this is the worse state he’s ever seen you. Even after—” _after me_ , Steve hears Bucky’s unspoken words, and he wants to reach out and hold him and tell him, again, that all of that is in the past and it wasn’t him.

Bucky exhales. “Steve, what the _hell_ were you thinking? Running after those guys like that without even waiting for the rest of the team? _What were you thinking_?”

“They were gonna hurt you,” Steve slurs. He tries to shrug, but _oh, yeah, broken collar bone_. “Di’n’t ’ave another choice.”

“Jesus _fuck_ , Steve, there’s always a fucking choice,” Bucky’s head is still in his hand, and he won’t look at Steve. The hand in Steve’s is trembling. He sighs again. Steve wants to kiss him and tell him he’s fine. “You’re an _idiot_. You can’t just—you can’t just…,”

“Buck,” Steve whispers, “I’m okay.”

“You’re not _okay_ , Steve, fucking—look at you!”

“I _will_ be,” he grumbles.

Bucky stands up, letting go of Steve’s hand so he can pace around the room. Steve sees the exhaustion in every move he makes; the way his shoulders are hunched, his movements are slow, his _eyes_. God, his eyes are so tired.

“How long ‘ave you been here?”

“What do you think, Steve,” it’s not a question. “The whole fucking time.”

“Have you slept?”

“Fitfully.”

Steve sighs carefully. “I’m sorry, Buck,” he murmurs, knowing how much Bucky worries even when Steve is _awake_ , let alone when he’s unconscious with multiple broken bones and four gunshot wounds. “’M sorry.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Bucky turns back to him.

“I know.”

Bucky sighs. He steps closer again and reaches out to carefully run his hand over Steve’s hair. “You’re a punk.”

Steve smiles softly. Can’t even bring himself to insult Bucky in return.

“Love you,” he says instead.

Bucky laughs through his nose, and finally, _finally_ , there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I love you too, moron.”

“Kiss me?”

“You’ve got a huge gash in your lip, Stevie.”

Steve pouts and immediately feels the sting of said gash.

Bucky smiles softly again and leans in, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead instead.

“How much does it all hurt?” He asks, smoothing his thumb against Steve’s temple.

“A lot.”

“Sleep, Steve. The painkillers will help with it.”

“Don’t wanna leave you again,”

“I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“You can go home,” Steve says, sounding drunk, “go sleep, shower, rest. I’m okay now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you ’kay?”

“I’m _fine_ Steve.”

Steve gingerly lifts his non-injured hand and vaguely points in Bucky’s direction. “You’re hurt.”

Bucky raises his metal fingertips to the cut on his eyebrow, almost subconsciously. “I’m fine. Much better off than you, at least.”

“Was just protecting you, Buck. ’Cus I love ya.”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. This ain’t the first time. Sleep, punk. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Steve thinks he manages to slur something along the lines of “I love you” before he slips under once more.

* * *

When he wakes again, the first person he sees is Sam. He’s sitting in the chair by his injured hand, watching something on his iPad, and he looks up when Steve stirs. Steve turns his head a little in the other direction and relief floods through him when he sees Bucky there; head leaning to the side, ear pressed up against his metal shoulder. He’s fast asleep. Someone has put a blanket over him where he sits and he’s still holding Steve’s left hand.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, just softly.

Steve turns back to Sam and winces at the pain his movement triggers. “Hey.” He croaks out.

Sam nods his chin towards Bucky. “He hasn’t left your side for the whole time you've been here. You don’t even need to check if he’s stayed.”

“I feel bad. He should be getting rest.”

“I would be, if you would shut the fuck up,” Bucky grumbles, ever the light sleeper, but he’s sitting up straighter and blinking rapidly to wake up his eyes. His grip tightens on Steve’s hand and he looks down at the blanket on his lap. “Who’s been covering me up in my sleep like I'm a kid?” He sounds grumpy, but the appreciation in his voice and on his face is entirely visible.

“You’re welcome,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Ungrateful.”

It makes Steve chuckle. It hurts, but it’s worth it.

“How long was I asleep?” Steve asks.

“A while.”

“How you feeling?” Bucky asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes and standing up to get Steve some more water.

Steve tries to move his body to test out his answer, winces at the pain, but shrugs his good shoulder anyway. “Not bad.”

Sam and Bucky both snort. Sam quips, “yeah, sure, the three gunshot wounds in your stomach sure look _not bad_.”

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. He sips the water Bucky’s holding up at his mouth, then says, “I’m feeling better than I did last time I woke up.” It's not technically a lie. He feels about one percent better.

“Yeah, well, you’re not getting out of here anytime soon, so don’t get your hopes up.” Bucky scolds like Steve has already asked when he gets to leave. (He actually _was_ just about to ask it; _sue him_.)

“Are you gonna tell me what an idiot I am, too?” Steve turns back to Sam and pulls the best _feel sorry for me_ face he can.

A figure appearing at the door answers for him. “I think Barnes has done that enough for all of us,” Natasha smirks, “but just one for luck: you’re an idiot.”

“Two for luck,” Sam chimes in, “you’re an idiot.”

“You guys are supposed to be my _friends_. You shouldn’t gang up on me like this.”

“That’s exactly why we should gang up on you,” Natasha steps in and leans against the end of Steve’s bed, pressing her hip up against the frame. “We have to tell you off for your stupid recklessness.”

Steve pouts. “You guys couldn’t get by without my stupid recklessness.”

“Arrogance. Nice.”

“Shut it, Romanoff,” Steve says, but he’s smiling at her, and the soft smile on her lips appears as a smirk, but it’s fond.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, her voice a little softer now. “But, really, enough with being reckless.”

“You’ve known him for a long time now, do you really think he’s going to stop that?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow up at her.

Nat smirks in response. “Well, you’ve known him the longest and I assume he was like this back then, too. So…,”

“He was,” Bucky gives Steve a pointed look. “All the fucking time.”

Steve pouts again and dramatically turns his gaze away from all of them. “You’re being mean to me. I’m in a _hospital bed_. Shouldn’t you be waiting on me hand and foot?”

“Psh, as if you’d let us.” Sam counters, and Steve can’t argue with that one.

“Well,” Nat taps his good ankle and squeezes it softly. “You’re going to have to get used to it. Doc says you’re in here for at least another three days, then home for bed rest for two weeks. You’re not allowed to do anything. So, enjoy that, Bucky. It’s gonna be fun getting him to stay still.”

Bucky groans and puts his forehead down on the mattress next to their joined hands.

Sam and Natasha both chuckle, and Steve manages one, too, because yeah, he’s a stubborn punk; he can admit that. Goodness knows Bucky tells him enough for him to be self-aware about it.

Steve suddenly feels really, really hungry.

“When was the last time I ate something?”

“Well, the IV has been giving you nutrients while you’ve been under but it’s been four days since you ate something last.” Sam informs him.

“Shit,” Steve curses, “can I get something now?”

“Pretty sure you can’t eat solid foods, but I’ll go check.” Bucky squeezes his hand before standing up and heading for the door. It’s ridiculous, but Steve feels a pang in his chest when Bucky leaves and he can no longer see him through the windows of the room. He’s been here the whole time and even though Steve hasn’t been conscious for most of it, somehow he knew Bucky was there. And he knows Bucky hates hospitals, and he’d completely understand if Bucky didn’t stay, but the fact that he’s stayed despite how these places make his anxiety so much worse; it makes Steve’s heart fill with love and gratitude.

And, well, when he’s so sick like this, not being with Bucky, even for a second, just makes him feel even worse.

“He’ll take care of you,” Natasha says, her voice surprisingly soft, breaking him out of his thoughts. Steve looks to her, and she continues. “He’s good.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hardest part is going to be getting you to _let_ him take care of you.”

“Alright, alright, enough grilling Steve,” Steve waves towards the door. “Can you go away now? I wanna sleep.”

“Thought you were hungry?” Sam smirks, already standing up from his chair.

“I am. And tired.”

“Alright, man,” Sam smiles at him, “we’ll be back later, alright?”

Steve nods, a grateful smile on his face. “See ya.”

“Later, Cap.” Natasha says, a little teasingly, and pats his ankle a couple times before turning and following Sam out the door.

They pass Bucky on the way out. When he walks in, he’s carrying a tray of food, and Steve’s eyes light up.

“Okay, it’s not that exciting but I managed to get you something. Some oatmeal and a glass of milk. And apparently you can eat banana, too, but as long as it’s mashed, so I got you some of that.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve smiles, “I’m so hungry right now I’d eat anything.”

Steve's bed is tilted upright just a tad so Bucky manages to wheel over the table that hangs over the bed and place the tray of food in front of Steve. The oatmeal looks thoroughly unappetising but at least Bucky managed to get a little sugar on it.

Steve wolfs it down along with the mashed banana and milk, and Bucky just sits there the whole time, reading a book and occasionally looking up at Steve to check on him.

“Okay, I know you’re mad at me for being reckless,” Steve pushes the table away as best he can and Bucky finishes its journey for him, pushing it over to the wall. “But my lip is feeling a lot better now and I really would like you to kiss me. Please?”

Bucky smirks, leaning in closer. “I am mad at you,” he says, the look in his eyes soft, “but it’s only because I love you. C’mere, idiot.” And he leans in, placing a soft, lingering, close-mouthed kiss on Steve’s lips. Steve sighs in to him and feels a smile tugging on his face as Bucky pulls away. “Better?” Bucky asks, still smirking, running his thumb over Steve’s cheek.

“Yeah. Maybe need a little more, though.”

Chuckling, Bucky leans back in to kiss him, but then pulls away after just a moment. “Wait,”

“What?”

“I need you to promise me something.”

Steve frowns. “Anything, Buck.”

“Really? So you’ll promise me that you’re gonna let me take care of you for the next two weeks without _any_ complaints?”

“Uh…,”

That smirk is back again. Steve wants to kiss it off Bucky’s face. “That’s what I thought.”

Steve sighs, relenting. “Okay, Buck, I’ll let you take care of me with only minimum complaints.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Minimum?”

“That’s the best I can do.”

Bucky shakes his head, but it’s fond, and he laughs. “You’re impossible.”

“Not entirely,” Steve tilts his chin up as a hint that he wants another kiss. “At least I cooperated.”

* * *

Tony takes pity on Bucky after the fourth night and brings in a fold-out bed for him in the hospital room. Things are…complicated between Tony and Bucky, to say the least. They only really talk via comms during a mission, with only necessary words and commands and securing communications. But at the end of the day, Tony has accepted Bucky in to the Avengers. And Tony’s Tony; he’s not just going to let someone sleep in a chair for the fourth night in a row. Even if that someone is someone he has a long and complicated relationship with.

Bucky tries to turn it down but Steve basically pushes him towards it and tells him to _go the fuck to sleep_.

 

It’s Steve's last night in the med wing – providing they approve his release tomorrow – and the nurses wake him when they come to do their night checks. Steve blinks his eyes open in to the dull light of the room, the only brightness coming from the lights in the hall and the dull lamp above his bed, and looks over to see Bucky sitting sideways in the armchair by Steve’s bed, reading a book. 

Steve frowns across at him past the nurse that’s standing at his IV bag. “Why are you awake?” He asks.

Bucky looks up at him. He looks tired. There are dark bags under his eyes and his stubble is longer than usual. His eyes move up to the nurses and then back to Steve, silently telling him that he’ll answer the question once they’re alone again.

Steve nods softly in understanding. A minute or so later it’s just the two of them again, the door closed behind the staff.

“Nightmare?” Steve asks softly.

Bucky nods, running a hand through his hair then over his face. “Well, I kinda just didn’t try and sleep. Didn’t wanna risk, uh…screaming the place down in the middle of the night.”

Steve reaches his hand out and Bucky takes the hint right away, leaning forward to lace their fingers together. “I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I know you sleep so much calmer in your own bed.”

“And when we’re spooning.”

Steve chuckles tiredly. “That, too.”

“Do you need anything? How’s the pain?”

“Mm…not bad. Not great, but…it’s getting better relatively quick.”

“Don’t get any ideas about a speedy recovery.”

“My body’s middle name is Speedy Recovery.”

“You did not just say that.”

“I just said that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and chuckles softly. “Look, two weeks should be how long it takes for you to heal enough, and that _is_ a speedy recovery, by non-serumed people’s standards.”

“‘Serumed’ isn’t a word.”

“It is. Anyway, shut up, it is now,” Bucky squeezes his hand. “Do you need anything?”

“I could use some water, please.”

He passes the cup and helps him drink it through the straw. “Ready to go home tomorrow?”

“ _Beyond_ ready.”

“You realise you’re going to have to use a wheelchair to get to our place, right?”

Steve tries for a shrug. “It’s temporary. I should just be grateful I know I’ll get better.”

“Optimism and gratitude, huh? To replace the stubbornness and refusal of help?” Bucky smirks, putting the water cup back down on the table and then turning to sit on the edge of Steve’s bed, his metal thumb smoothing over Steve’s knuckles.

Steve laughs. “I’m trying out a new thing.”

Bucky laughs, too, and looks down at Steve so warmly and fondly that it makes Steve’s heart swell.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too.”

“I've been right here.”

Bucky slowly slides his hand up Steve's forearm, then back down again, almost absently. “Not the same.”

“When we're home we can be together as much as we want.”

“Can't fucking wait.” Bucky grins, and Steve grins in return.

* * *

“Steve, you realise the terms of your release from the med wing this early on in your recovery were that you don’t do anything, and you let yourself get taken care of?”

Steve sighs shortly. He’s only just arrived home and Bucky is trying to insist on bringing him dinner to eat in bed rather than sitting at the kitchen table. “I know, Buck, but I want to feel _normal_.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got four gunshot wounds and a lot of broken bones. Even with your super healing you’re still fucking messed up.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Bucky gives him a look. “Am I wrong?”

Steve takes in the dull ache of his broken bones, the strange disconnected feeling all through his torso, the way his body feels broken and torn apart, like it's only been sewn back together with the thinnest of threads. Yeah, maybe Bucky’s not so wrong after all. “No,” Steve admits.

Bucky grins like he’s just won the lottery. “That’s a first.”

“I admit you’re right all the time.”

“Not true,” Bucky leans in to kiss Steve on the lips, hovering above where he sits half up against the headboard. “But it’s good to hear you sounding like you.”

“Like a stubborn ass?”

“Yup,” Bucky strokes his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone and looks in to his eyes so softly and tenderly. And then, a soft smile on his face, “What shall I get you to eat, babydoll? Do you feel up to anything solid yet?”

Steve mulls over this for a moment then wrinkles his nose. “Honestly, my stomach feels all weird after all the moving around, so…it’s probably not a great idea.”

“Chicken soup, then? We’ve got some leftovers in the freezer I can heat up.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Bucky smiles softly and leans in to capture Steve’s lips in his, and Steve just wants to melt in to his warmth because between the visits from their friends, the doctors, nurses, and all the tubes Steve was hooked up to, they haven’t been able to kiss properly in _days_.

But Bucky pulls away and brushes some hair back from Steve’s forehead. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“Bucky?” Steve calls, reaching forward to take a hold of Bucky’s metal hand before he walks away.

Bucky turns back to him, frowning softly. “Yeah?”

“I know I’m probably going to be infuriating these next few weeks,” Steve starts, voice quiet, “and I’m going to try not to be, I promise. I just—wanted you to know that I really appreciate you taking good care of me.”

Bucky smiles gently. Squeezes Steve’s hand. “It’s ’cus I love you, Punk. More than anything.”

Steve chuckles. “I love you too.”

He comes back ten minutes later with two bowls of steaming hot chicken soup and mugs of peppermint tea. He says mint is calming for the stomach, and at this point, Steve’s insides are feeling so strange that he’ll drink _anything_ that might possibly help.

He switches on their flat screen TV that hangs on the wall opposite the bed and they sit and watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S while carefully sipping soup. Bucky sits beside Steve up against the headboard, and he has his metal hand sitting on Steve’s thigh, thumb gently rubbing over the fabric of his sweats.

“Are you done?” He asks when they’re halfway in to the second episode.

Steve looks down at his empty bowl of soup. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bucky kisses the side of Steve’s head before he picks up both of their bowls and mugs and takes them through to the kitchen. Steve sits by himself for a while, hating every feeling in his body right now. He’s uncomfortable, in pain, his body can’t decide if it wants to be hot or cold, and he hasn’t had a shower in too long. After the mission, the nurses only cleaned the dust off his skin; he hasn’t properly been _washed_ in days.

The realisation of that feels heavy on him and he suddenly feels very, very gross.

“Hey,” Bucky says when he walks back in, “why the face?”

Steve sighs. “Do I stink?”

“What?” Bucky chuckles softly, sitting down beside Steve on the edge of the bed.

“I haven’t showered since before the mission, and I feel really gross.”

“Well, you can’t take a shower on your own. You can't get wet. In a few days you’ll be able to use the shower seat they gave us and sit down for one.”

“But I stink _now_. My skin is literally sticky.”

Bucky chuckles, reaching out to gently run his fingers down the side of Steve’s face. “I can help you, if you want. You have those waterproof things for your casts, and I can just, like, sponge you down. Avoid the bits that need to be dry.”

“Glamorous.”

“Well, the offer’s real. If it’ll make you more comfortable.”

“Would you mind?”

“’Course not. ’s’what I’m here for.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

“Come on,” Bucky reaches out and puts his arm carefully under Steve’s arms, around the top of his back. “Do you need the chair, or can you make it to the bathroom?”

“I’m good, I’m good,”

Bucky manages to half-carry him through, Steve kind of hobbling along, but mostly Bucky lifts his weight. Their shower is over the bath, so Steve sits on the toilet while Bucky puts the bath board shower seat in for him.

Bucky helps take of his clothes and then takes off his own, sitting Steve down on the seat and kneeling in front of him on one knee, the other knee up so Steve can rest his broken leg straight out over it. He’s got waterproof sleeves for his casts, but Bucky takes a hold of the showerhead so he can control the spray anyway.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?”

“Can you, without…?”

Bucky thinks for a minute, assessing the bandages on Steve’s middle. “Mm…maybe not. Can you manage with unwashed hair? We can work out a way if you want me to try.”

“No, it’s fine. Just please get this grub off my skin.”

Bucky smiles softly and pecks Steve’s bare shoulder. “I’m on it, baby.”

Carefully, Bucky puts some soap on the sponge and rubs it over the non-bandaged parts of Steve’s skin, the showerhead placed on the bath floor, spraying against the edge and just wetting their feet. Steve closes his eyes in to Bucky’s touch, the smell of fruit-scented soap taking over his mission-dirtied skin. He presses his forehead against the side of Bucky’s head as he focuses on cleaning carefully around Steve’s arm cast. Bucky kisses Steve’s neck softly and murmurs comforting words in to his skin, and Steve feels so loved and cared for as his skin gets rinsed with a clean sponge, Bucky’s hands all over him in the most innocent but intimate way.

Bucky runs his fingers over the goosebumps on Steve’s good arm. “You cold?”

“A little, but it’s mostly just…this feels nice.”

A small smirk grows on Bucky’s lips and Steve can feel the warm lust in his own eyes as he thinks about kissing that smirk off of those pretty lips.

“Well, we can do this as often as you like when you’re better.”

“Not when I’m sick?” Steve pouts.

Bucky chuckles. “We can do it when you’re recovering, too, but once you’re _recovered_ we might just be able to do some other fun stuff at the same time.”

Steve grins. “I like the sound of that.”

“Things to look forward to,” Bucky smiles and leans in to kiss Steve’s temple. “Alright, we’re all done. You’re all squeaky clean.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

_All he can do is stand and watch a screen as Steve runs towards an entire army of people who called in a threat against Bucky an hour ago. Steve went out as soon as the message came through, his head hot and anger fierce. Bucky is panting in the quinjet, the rest of the team around him trying to calm him down, but he’s watching as Steve gets shot in the stomach—and then again—and then someone stamps on his leg and his collar bone—and Bucky shouldn’t be able to hear his scream but he can_ hear _it, somehow; see it in the way Steve’s mouth opens and his throat contracts. Steve’s screaming, he’s hurt, and someone’s standing over his broken body with a gun and shooting him in the chest—_

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice comes through the fog, replacing Steve’s loud screams of anguish. “Bucky, wake up, it’s me—”

His face is wet, suddenly, and at first Bucky thinks it’s Steve’s blood, that he’s been shot right in front of him and he’s bleeding out—but then his eyes flutter open and Steve is shaking him awake, awkwardly leaning across him from his position on his back. Bucky brings his flesh hand up to feel the tears on his cheeks and check, making sure it’s not blood.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,”

But he’s not okay; and Steve’s not okay. Bucky’s sobbing, whole body trembling, reliving seeing Steve almost killed, his lifeless body on the jet on the way home, the way Bucky had kept a finger to Steve’s pulse point to make sure he stayed alive—

“Bucky,” Steve says softly.

Bucky rolls on to his side to make it easier for Steve to look at him. He can’t lie on his side yet; only sit halfway up against the back of the bed, mostly lying on his back. Bucky shuffles in closer and buries his head in Steve’s good collar bone.

“Steve,” he manages to whisper out, his voice hoarse and weak and strained with tears.

“It’s okay, Buck, it’s okay—I’m here, I’m here, you’re okay…,”

“Don’t you—” He draws in a shuddering, sob-wracked breath, “don’t you dare do that again, do you hear me? You are not allowed to put—to put yourself in danger like that, I—”

“Bucky,”

“No, Steve, I—don’t ever scare me like that again, I—I can’t lose you, I can’t—”

Steve shakes his head, reaching out with his good hand and cupping Bucky’s jaw, wiping away his tears. “I’m here,” he whispers, “I promise. You’re never going to lose me.”

Bucky can’t breathe. His chest is tight and his too-deep breaths feel like he’s breathing in heavy, laden air. Steve takes his hand, smoothing a thumb over Bucky’s knuckles.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Steve soothes, his voice soft. Bucky tries to listen to only that rather than the ringing in his ears; tries to let Steve’s words and his presence and his pulse under Bucky’s fingers ground him. Steve’s here. He’s alive. He’s hurt, but he’s okay. He’s going to be okay, at least.

“Steve…,” Bucky rasps, but he doesn’t get anywhere with his sentence because he’s still gasping for air, taking breaths that are somehow too deep but still not enough.

“Hey, listen, breathe with me,” Steve begins to breathe how he usually does when he’s trying to talk Bucky down from a panic attack. Bucky doesn’t miss the way his brow creases just a tiny bit in pain as he breathes.

“Steve, your ribs, your wounds—”

“I’m fine, Buck, I promise,” Steve’s soothes, “it's okay. Breathe with me, Buck. This will pass. I’m here.” He takes a breath and raises his eyebrows, urging Bucky to follow along. He does – tries to, at least – and after a period of time longer than he’d care to admit, his breathing eventually slows and evens out, and his heart stops racing so much in his chest.

Steve’s still smoothing his thumb over the top of Bucky’s hand, just breathing with him until this passes.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbles when he can properly form breaths again. He’s lying on his side beside Steve, propped up on his metal elbow. “I—you’re the one who’s recovering from serious injuries. I shouldn’t have a panic attack.”

Steve frowns. “Hey, no,” he reaches out and cups Bucky’s cheek in his hand. “Don’t say that. You’re recovering, too. What you feel is valid, Buck, you know that.”

Bucky nods, mostly because he knew Steve would say that. He carefully leans down and nuzzles his nose against Steve’s cheek, taking in the smell of him and the feel of his warmth, always radiating, always constant. He stays there for a moment, presses a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth before pulling away enough to look in to his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Buck.” Steve says it like he’s just trying to make Bucky feel better.

“No, I—I don’t mean I’m still anxious about you after my nightmare. I mean, obviously I am,” he adds.

Steve nods understandingly, sliding his hand back in to Bucky’s hair.

“But I just mean…are you _alright_? Have you managed to sleep?” He looks over Steve to the clock on the table by the bed. It’s 3am. “You were due more painkillers at 1.”

“I know, I just…,”

“Didn’t want to wake me, I know,” Bucky sighs, reluctantly smiling softly down at Steve because, as much as it drives him crazy how much Steve is constantly putting Bucky before himself, Bucky knows it’s just out of love. It’s Steve, and Steve loves him so much, like Bucky loves him. And, honestly, if the roles were reversed, he’d be doing the same thing.  
He carefully pushes back the last of the covers that remain on him after his nightmare and pads off in to the bathroom, squinting at the brightness when he switches on the light. The pills are already out on the surface, ready for him to grab, so he fills up the bathroom glass, dispenses Steve’s dose in to his hand, turns off the light and heads back in to their room.

“Thanks, love.” Steve smiles softly at him before opening his mouth so Bucky can put them on his tongue to let Steve wash them down with the water he holds out.

Bucky puts the glass down on the bedside table and crouches down by Steve, reaching out to brush his fingers down those unreasonably beautiful cheekbones. “Have you managed to get any sleep?”

Steve cringes a little. “Not much. Pain has been keeping me up.”

“Do you wanna watch a movie, or somethin’?”

“No, I don’t wanna keep you awake…,”

“Babe, I’m well awake after that dream.”

Steve chuckles sadly. “Are you sure?”

He nods and kisses Steve’s forehead. “I’m sure. What d’ya wanna watch?”

“Star Wars?”

Bucky smiles. “Star Wars it is.”

“Wait, which one?”

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“Which Anakin do you want?”

Steve chuckles, “all the Anakins, honestly.”

“Me too, buddy,” Bucky shakes his head, then walks around to his side of the bed, brings out his phone to wirelessly connect it to their TV. A second later the movie menu is up on the screen and all the Star Wars movies are there, waiting to be chosen. Bucky picks Return of the Jedi, and Steve sighs contentedly.

“Good choice,” he says.

Bucky shuffles in closer and rests his arm behind Steve’s neck, letting Steve lean sideways in to him just a little, head resting on Bucky’s shoulder.

“You sure you don’t mind staying up with me?” Steve murmurs.

“’Course not. No place I’d rather be.”

“Sap.”

“Love you.”

Steve nuzzles against Bucky’s shoulder and moves in closer. “Love you too, baby.”

* * *

“What’s up?”

“Hmm?”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “You look miserable.”

Steve sighs. “I’m kinda tired of being in bed.”

Bucky thinks for a moment, runs a hand through Steve’s hair. “Well, if you promise to be good, you could maybe set up camp on the sofa for today.”

Steve’s eyes light up like a little kid on Christmas. “Really?”

Bucky chuckles, because he _really_ must be desperate if a trip to the sofa is enough to get him this happy. “Yeah, baby.”

“Yes, yes, get me up now,”

“Easy, tiger, we gotta be careful,” Bucky runs his hand through Steve’s hair one more time and then reaches under him with his metal arm. “How’s your leg feeling? Can you walk okay, d’you think?”

“Yeah, it’s okay, I’ll be able to limp through to the living room.”

“Alright. Take it slow, okay?”

Steve’s legs wobble a little as he puts his feet down on the floor, but he gets himself up with the help of Bucky’s arms around him, and manages to hobble through the apartment. Bucky’s surprised, actually, by how mobile he is.

His collar bone is a lot better now; his wrist is still the worst of the broken bones – his wrists have always been sensitive, even after the serum – and his gunshot wounds are, as expected, still pretty bad. But they’re not bad enough to stop him from moving at the moment. At least, not today.

Bucky is taking extra care to keep the wounds clean and make sure nothing gets infected; as much as they both know that’s relatively impossible with the serum, it’s still a minute possibility, so Bucky insists on taking precautions.

“Buck,” Steve says as Bucky sits him down on the couch. “Can we figure out a way to cuddle? I miss cuddling you properly.”

“Yeah, we can try. Want a drink first? What d’you wanna watch?”

Steve purses his lips, thinking. “I don’t mind. Something easy.”

“We could watch some more of that ocean documentary.” They’ve been in to nature documentaries recently. It’s calming, just to watch something without plot, something that happens naturally, something that’s non-committal but still interesting.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Tea? Juice?”

“Just water, if that’s okay?”

“No, babe, I was just planning on letting you die of thirst.” He deadpans. Leans down to kiss Steve’s head. “Be right back.”

They end up settling with Bucky lying on the sofa, head resting on the arm, and Steve lying on top of him, back pressed to Bucky’s chest. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s sides, but avoids his stomach, just letting his hands settle on Steve’s hipbones.

Steve falls asleep halfway through the documentary, Bucky running a hand softly through Steve’s hair, focusing more on Steve’s even breathing and his warmth against Bucky’s chest than the whales on the screen. He’s everything. He’s _everything_. How can Bucky ever focus on anything more than Steve when he’s here, alive, warm, breathing, so close. He’s _Steve_. He’s just…everything.

 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky says softly against Steve’s ear when he eventually stirs an hour later. “Good sleep?”

“Mm,” Steve just murmurs in response, bringing up his good hand to run through his hair and then rub his eyes. He looks at the TV where Netflix is open but not playing anything. “What time is it?”

“Only 1pm.”

“Have you been sitting not watching anything all that time?”

“Nah, it only ended ten minutes ago. But I was kind of sleepy anyway. Didn’t watch much.”

Steve smirks, tipping his head back on to Bucky’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “Admit it, Buck, you were just pining over me.”

“You’re right here. I don’t have to _pine_ over ya.”

“You always pine over me.”

“You can’t talk, Stevie.”

Steve chuckles, and it’s a beautiful sound, and Bucky wants to hear it forever. “True.”

Bucky runs his hands down Steve’s arms and threads their fingers together. “You hungry?”

“Mm…yeah.”

“You had to think about it? Who are you and what have you done with Steve?” He teases, playfully nipping Steve’s earlobe. “What d’you wanna eat? Are you up to solid food?”

“Maybe try something easy.”

“Cereal?” 

“Yeah, that might work.”

“Okay, we’re gonna have to try and maneuver me out from under you.”

“No,” Steve grumbles, “stay.”

“Babydoll, if you wanna eat, I gotta get up.”

Steve sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

“I love you,” Bucky kisses his ear and slowly starts sliding out from under him, trying to jostle him as little as possible. Steve makes a couple of grunts in pain, and Bucky can tell he’s trying to be silent. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he tries to be fast in his movement but it’s hard when he’s being so careful. “Hey, there we go,” he strokes a hand down Steve’s face. “You alright?”

Steve nods, but his eyes are closed and he’s gently clutching his side.

“Did I hurt you? Are you in pain?”

“It’s okay, it’s passing,” Steve says softly, “I just moved in the wrong way, is all. I’m okay.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, Buck?”

“Hm?” Bucky turns back to Steve just before he walks away.

Steve reaches out and grasps his hand. “Love you.”

Bucky smiles. Squeezes his hand. “I love you too.”

 

Steve manages his cereal without pain or discomfort, then even decides to try some toast, and he wolfs that down too. He’s been surviving mostly on soup and milkshakes since coming home, so the fact he can now eat solids is far too an exciting opportunity for him to pass up. The man loves food, that’s for sure.

“Don’t push it too far,” Bucky warns softly, but he’s smiling as Steve enjoys his second helping of toast.

He’s managing to half sit up on the sofa, too, like he lies in the bed with his head against the headboard. Bucky puts a cushion behind his head on the arm of the couch and then moves down to the other end to sit with Steve’s feet over his thighs.

Steve wriggles his toes as Bucky switches on F.R.I.E.N.D.S., and Bucky chuckles. “Are you trying to hint that you want me to rub your feet?”

Steve grins and nods.

“Well, seeing as you’re still sick,” Bucky grins in return, hands moving to Steve’s feet. He always gives Steve foot massages, but he likes to tease him anyway. Obviously. Because it’s _them_.

* * *

 

It’s when Steve starts feeling a little better that he truly becomes a stubborn idiot where his health and wellbeing is concerned. He’s been home for seven days and now claims he’s well enough to not need the recommended minimum of another week’s bed rest.

Bucky supposes he should’ve seen it coming, really; Steve has _never_ been one to accept help or feel even remotely coddled. But this past week he’s done so _well_ , and Bucky has just grown pretty accustomed to—and thankful for, honestly—this version of Steve who lets Bucky _actually take care of him_.

There were times, when they were young, when Steve was so sick that he could barely lift his limbs or open his mouth to speak. Those were pretty much the only times he’d allow help. And turning down help was never necessarily because he _liked_ putting his health at risk; it was always because he constantly felt like he was useless because of his illnesses, the way he was always so sickly and weak, and he wanted to prove himself; wanted to feel like he could handle himself. And he could, up to a point; Bucky would always remind him of that fact. Would always tell him he was enough, he was _Steve_ , and he didn’t need perfect health to be enough and worthy and wonderful.  
But, of course, being Stubborn Steve, he didn’t really believe Bucky. He just wanted to do things on his own if he even just possibly could.

And, now, Bucky supposes, there’s just some of that left over.

He still wants to feel useful; still doesn’t like “putting Bucky out of his way to help”, even though Bucky tells him to fuck off, that he’s his _boyfriend_ for crying out loud—they fucking live together—and it’s what he’s here for. Because Steve never has a problem helping _Bucky_ at any cost; but he can’t handle when Bucky wants to help Steve.

Figures.

“Steve, you are getting on my last fucking nerve. Sit the fuck down and let me cook your fucking meal.”

“But—”

“No, no _buts_. Look at you. You’re pale as anything and you have dark circles under your eyes and you’re still fucking clutching at your side. Sit. Down.”

Steve sighs like a teenager who’s just been told he can’t go out with his friends and slumps down on to a dining chair. “ _Fine_.”

“Don’t sulk. I’m compromising by letting you sit up rather than be in bed.”

“You’re not my teacher. I don’t have to answer to you."

Bucky laughs, because Steve’s _really_ sulky about this, and, well, when all else fails, you just have to _laugh_. “Alright, hotshot. I’m not gonna give you detention, but please, just stay sitting down.”

“At least let me help sitting here? I can chop up the veggies,”

Bucky turns to Steve and raises his eyebrows, exhaling tiredly. He waits for a moment in case Steve gives in and just _stays put_ , but nope; there’s that stubborn shine in his eyes and the determined set of his jaw and Bucky knows he’s not going to stop complaining until he’s helping in some way.

And it’s okay; Bucky gets it. It’s important to feel useful. It’s important for Steve to _help_ ; it’s hardwired in to his DNA to help people, even if the least he can do right now is chop up some vegetables.

“Alright, fine,” Bucky relents. Steve’s face splits in to a grin and he immediately sits up straighter. Bucky turns to pick up the chopping board and the knife and then takes them over to the table. “Chop up the damn veggies. If it’ll make you feel better.”

“It really will,” Steve says, and he sounds so genuine.

Bucky kisses the top of his head. “I don’t mean to annoy you, you know,” he says. “I’m not trying to tell you off for everything you do.”

“I know.”

“But you also have to know that you’re supposed to be on _bed rest_ for another week, so I’m absolutely going to hound you for another seven days to stay fucking still and let me help you.”

Steve just makes a noncommittal noise and starts chopping up a carrot. Bucky sighs, knowing this is the best compromise right now.

It’s temping to say _I told you so_ when Steve is in extra pain that night because he’d spent half an hour helping Bucky cook. But he doesn’t say it, because Steve’s in _pain_ , and he just wants to take it away.

 

 

**Bucky:** _steve is being a Bad Patient_

**Nat:** _you had a week of him being good, be grateful_

**Bucky:** _but nat_

**Nat:** _but what_

**Bucky:** _he won’t stop trying to /do things/. send help_

**Nat:** _we all know help won’t do anything_

**Bucky:** _send pizza, then_

**Nat:** _I’m rolling my eyes at you_

**Bucky:** _nothing new there then. pepperoni pls :D_

And, sure enough, half an hour later there are two boxes of pizza being delivered to one James Barnes with a note taped to the inside of the pizza box, typed out by the pizza place on request.

_Tell Steve his boyfriend is the worst. :D_

Bucky laughs, shaking his head fondly, and takes it through to the kitchen. Steve’s hobbling through the hall towards him.

“Pizza?” He asks, frowning confusedly.

“Nat sent it. I asked her to.”

Steve laughs and sits down, picking the note off the cardboard and chuckling as he reads it. “She loves us, deep down.”

“I know,” Bucky laughs. He gets out two plates, pours two glasses of water and then sits opposite Steve, loading slices of pieces of pizza on to each plate. “Eat up, baby. You need your strength.”

“Okay, I’ll let you coddle me with everything else, but through all of this my appetite has been the one thing that has remained fine.”

“First off, you _don’t_ let me coddle you with everything else. So.” He flicks a piece of pepperoni at Steve but it just lands on his plate. “And second, that’s very true. Few things can take you away from your food.”

They eat in comfortable silence, and Bucky of course has to spend five minutes convincing Steve to _not_ get up and help clean up the kitchen, but that’s standard.

Bucky helps him shower after everything’s clean and put away, then re-dresses his wounds so they don’t have to go down to the medical wing. Then they curl up in bed and watch Netflix, and Steve drops off halfway through the episode of their documentary. Bucky isn’t surprised, given how he’s been pushing himself today.

It’s okay, though, because Bucky just switches the screen off and curls up in to Steve, turns off the light, and then they’re both asleep, and everything is okay. Everything’s _good._

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make me happy. thank you for reading.  
> Love :* xxx


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